


Return Customer

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee Shops, Horniness, Inappropriate Erections, Kissing, M/M, POV First Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: Working at the coffeeshop is rubbish... until Teddy walks in.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 142





	Return Customer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, 'return customer', given to me by katerinehathshblack. Thank you! :D
> 
> (Also, as will always be so with this pairing, there's a ~~yummy~~ small age difference, but I thought I'd mention it here because it's 24/17 in this case.)

Working at a Muggle coffeeshop over summer hols before seventh year is fucking rubbish.

“Really?” I ask through gritted teeth as a customer aims his still-half-full latte in the general direction of the bin but misses and then doesn’t look back, leaving a lukewarm pond of beige to gurgle out of his super-mega-huge cup and onto the floor as he sails dickishly through the door. Laughing. 

“I got it,” sighs Gail, for which I’m thankful. It is her turn after all. I got the last dickweed who saw fit to leave his chewed up gum on the edge of the table as well as a used tissue. People are fucking gross, is what I’ve learned here, rather than the ‘work ethic’ Dad may have preferred. Hi, I’m James Sirius Potter, insult to the names I was given, solid D student in everything except Quidditch, and you don’t get a bloody mark for that, now do you?

I hear the slap of the scuzzy mop, Gail not-so-hard at work, and then the twinkly, happy bell of the door as I’m wiping down the counter of perpetual crumbs. It’s a group of blokes, I can hear that much, and that alone makes me not want to look up. Groups of blokes are the worst. I check my watch, but my next fifteen is a good two hours away. Bugger.

“Could I have a big-arse dirty Chai, three shots of espresso, with a shot and a half of vanilla syrup and just a trace of foam on top, thanks.”

It’s Eric Nott, which doesn’t explain why I’m now practically panting with anticipation. Nott’s an arsehole. Most of Teddy’s friends are. 

“Don’t listen to him. He’ll have a medium coffee, black.”

Teddy Lupin. My god-brother. My hero. My every stiff boner and wretched pining moment. One of which is right now. (The pining, not the boner. Thank fuck. Though give me a minute.)

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he says back with that smile of his that seems to suggest he and I share a lovely little secret. We sort of do. He kissed me once. Though he was pissed at the time and likely doesn’t even remember it. We certainly haven’t ever talked about it, and it’s been since I was home for Christmas hols—so, six excruciating months ~~of wanking~~.

“And this one,” Teddy indicates his other mate, Joey, who is not nearly the dickface that Nott clearly is, “will take a London Fog. And I’d like a double espresso. Please,” he says, and means it. Fuck knows why a Hufflepuff through and through like he is would want to hang out with a surly crapfest of Slytherins (sorry, Al), but he does. Although I suppose that’s a right Huffley thing to do.

Gail is still slopping away with her mop, so I take Teddy’s payment and get going on the drinks. I try not to, but I can’t help sneaking looks at him as he waits, talking to his friends, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, hair flickering a deep blue that he flips off his face as he laughs at a joke.

Gorgeous.

I decide I really need to concentrate on the drinks or I’ll end up tenting my apron like a lovesick fool. I let the loud _sccrrrrrrrrrwahwahscrrrrrrr_ of the machine lull me with its soothing white noise until I get my penis under control and then slide their drinks across the counter at them.

“Going back to work?” I ask Teddy, just to maybe keep him here with me a moment longer. And I am quite the scintillating conversationalist, can’t you tell? I don’t know why he hasn’t fallen for me yet.

“Yeah,” he says with a quiet smile as his mates move off toward the door. Gail, bless her, flops the mop back into the muddy grey water of the bucket (I don’t have to see it to know it’s that colour, trust me) and pushes it wearily into the back.

“Will you be at the house later?” he asks me.

“Which one?” One must always ask when one’s parents are newly divorced after all.

Teddy gets a sort of sadly resigned look on his face and doesn’t answer. But then he says, “You could come to mine.”

“I could?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure.” Then he just stands there and blinks once, his throat working on a swallow, looking like every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. I can feel the heat blaze onto my cheeks.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” I note stupidly.

He nods. “So I might see you later then?”

“I… Yes.” The word gushes out, like I’ve answered a marriage proposal rather than— “What… what are you…?”

He’s leaning over the counter toward me, and I lean in instinctively, thinking he’s going to confide something. Thinking I need to be in whispering range. But then he takes my stupid tie, the blue and brown striped one the company makes us wear, and he wraps it silkily around his knuckles, holding me there as my eyes widen.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says, to my lips.

I answer by swallowing a mouthful of saliva.

And then he leans in… Teddy leans in, slowly, giving me the chance to say no (AS IF), and he seals his lips to mine. Distantly, I hear a howl of appreciation from near the exit. And then I don’t hear anything but the rush of blood through my body, the answer of my magic to the rise I can feel in his. And I dwindle to that connection; I become my own tingling lips as he gently pries them open, touches his tongue to the bottom one, and then, almost regretfully, like he doesn’t even want to, pulls away.

He unwinds his fingers from my tie. He licks his lips thoughtfully and then smiles, like he’s won a bet with himself or proven a particularly tricky theorem. I can’t tell if I manage one in return, because I can’t feel my face.

I watch him walk out, the slight sway of his perfect arse. And I taste him. Again, after months of only residual memory, I taste him. And my heart feels like the sound of a bell.


End file.
